


Jeff Winger and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by La_Pacifidora



Series: My Milady/Milord Ficcy Friday Responses [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Pacifidora/pseuds/La_Pacifidora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By early afternoon, Jeff knew he should've just stayed in bed that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeff Winger and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Set ambiguously in an imagined season 2. Originally posted at Milady/Milord, on LJ, in July 2010. Prompted by SarahMisKismet, with [this photo.](http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s287/CrazyQA215/Journal2.jpg) Un-beta'd.
> 
> Disclaimer: Greendale doesn't belong to me; it belongs to all of us. But only a very select few of us make any money from it. I'm not one of those select few.

By early afternoon, Jeff knew he should've just stayed in bed that day.

(Even if he knew from experience that Annie would have been texting him all day: First to ask where he was, then if he was sick, then to reprimand him for laying around in bed all day, then to ask if he thought he might make Spanish class, then to ask if he could drag himself out of bed for study group and finally to ask if he wanted her to a) wait until tomorrow to catch him up, b) e-mail him her notes as soon as she finished typing them up later that night or c) drop them off at his apartment when she had finished typing them.

Or Jeff's favorite option, D: None of the above.)

But, no, like a fool, he'd dragged himself from bed that morning and only been about 15 minutes late for his first class that day. 

(He couldn't help the fact that an argument with his mostly deaf neighbor across the hall had resulted in being whacked upside the head with the elderly lady's broom, which had sent him back into his own home to check and redo his hair. 

The fact that the argument was because he kept slipping his own recycling into her bin so he wouldn't have to drag his own bin down to the curb and back up was irrelevant.)

But despite the mostly promising start (no homework in his first class), the day had slowly deteriorated. He'd run into Pierce in the lounge while he was grabbing a cup of coffee, where Pierce had tried to convince Jeff that his new moist toilet paper line would be an excellent investment opportunity. 

("Jeffrey! This is an opportunity you cannot miss! No one else is doing this."

"Actually, Pierce, I believe someone already has: They're called baby wipes.")

Then Shirley had accosted him in the hallway, not letting up until he'd agreed to buy $15 worth of crappy chocolate that her older son was selling for a school fundraiser. 

("Shirley, you know I'd love to help, but chocolate and the whole image I'm going for here aren't really compatible."

"Jeffrey. If my boy sells the most chocolate in his class, he'll be entered in a drawing for a new-used bike."

"A new used bike?"

"Budget cuts. Now can I put you down for three boxes and six bars?"

"Shirley..."

"I'm not going to be able to afford to buy him a bike for a while yet. I had to drill holes in empty soup cans and attach them to a box for his brother; and every time his little face looks up at me and says, 'Mommy, why doesn't my Hot Wheels move?', I feel like a horrible mother."

"Fine. How much do I owe you?"

And when Shirley gave him the six candy bars, he'd been hungry - and bored - enough to try one: Sure enough, it was as crappy as he'd feared it would be.)

Britta had been ranting about something to do with Ecuador, ferrets and child labor, which he'd mostly tuned out.

Troy was spending the day trying to see if he could only use words with no 'e' in them and actually was walking around with a dictionary. So, not only did chatting with him make no sense, it also took way too long.

And Abed was taking the whole 'Radar' thing to new and disturbing levels - even for him. After a brief discussion at lunch whether he should shoot for 'Clinger' status first, then deciding that he really didn't have the legs to pull off one of the outfits, Abed had begun staring at the side of Jeff's head intently. 

("Abed. What are you doing?"

"M*A*S*H fans have always been divided over whether Radar's abilities were truly psychic or paranormal, or if he simply had a high-functioning form of Autism where he was highly attuned to the other character's physical and language cues but was unable to relate to them. I figure if I'm going to go for verisimilitude, I should see if I can read your thoughts, Hawkeye. If not, then I may have to lower my expectations. And shave my legs.")

Add to that a drive-by-Dean-ing, wherein Pelton managed to both flatter and creep Jeff out in nearly equal measure, and Senor Chang's decision to spend the entire class teaching the class how to order a drink and negotiate for a hooker, and the day was growing bleaker by the minute.

Jeff was headed toward the newspaper office, hoping to take a cat nap before his last class of the day. (If he happened to sleep through his cell phone alarm - easily done when you didn't bother to set it - and miss the class, so much the better.) 

"JEFF!"

Jeff groaned quietly, and wished Annie would wear heels so he could hear her coming. 

(A reason very different from his general thoughts on Annie wearing heels: Those usually involved silk stockings, satin dresses with no backs and Mr. Edison sporting an insane look and toting a sawed off shotgun.)

"Annie." He turned and stepped to the side of the hall, catching her elbow as she flew at him, brandishing her cell phone. "Have you found anything more about the concert cancellation last fall?"

"No. But you will not believe what I received in an anonymous text!"

"A picture of Dean Pelton doing something strange and disturbing? A picture of Miley doing something vaguely slutty?" Jeff paused, quirking an eyebrow and assumed his most patronizing tone. "Did Britta send you dirty pictures of herself from a disposable cell phone? If she did, can you forward them to me?"

"Jeff." Annie smacked his arm and tilted the screen of her phone so they could both see it. "Someone is apparently spamming the entire school with video texts of Shiba Inu puppies. But no one knows how the sender got people's phone numbers."

Jeff pulled an 'awww' face, even as he shot Annie a sideways glance, taking in her goofy grin. "They're so cute!"

"Really?"

"No. Next time, Annie, don't bother unless Britta's been sexting you, OK?" He patted her on the shoulder and turned to go. 

"Jeff. Don't be gross. We agreed we'd never share those pictures with any one, much less send them by text message." Annie gave him a disparaging look and flounced away.

"Right." Jeff shook his head and started back down the hall.

It took him maybe thirty feet to realize Annie had just told him she - or Britta or possibly both of them - had dirty pictures of one or the both of them in her possession. And with a shudder, Jeff realized he was maybe, possible just as interested in seeing whatever shots of Annie might exist as he was in those of Britta.

But, even with the horrible day he'd had, he was not going to admit to anyone - least of all himself - that he might be more interested in whatever hypothetical photos Annie might exist.

That would just be too much to accept on top of this already awful, terrible, no good, very bad day.


End file.
